Chapter 17: Students Talk

[Undated Entry]
A pub somewhere in Oxford

GÉRARD FOUND HIS tutors strangely uninterested in life outside of Oxford, unless the topic was Ancient Greece or Rome or some other esoteric and ultimately futile philosophic musing on the nature of the world or the universe.

The nature of the world would be more interesting if it involved girls, females, Gérard was pretty certain, but the college seemed to be permeated by a certain asceticism, at least at first look. His easygoing manner meant he quickly found himself at home with his fellow undergraduates.

Unlike his tutors, his student companions displayed an eagerness to learn about life the in tropics. Their interest seemed to be centered on women. One night found Gérard and two or three of his newfound mates at a favorite student pub not far from the campus of the venerable college Gérard attended.

The publican was used to student drinking habits, which often involved the quick and frequent consummation of alcohol followed by a hazy and beery concert and, frequency, fisticuffs over some obscure or not-so-obscure and usually trivial dispute. His large bar “boy,” a slightly impaired young man in his mid-twenties, as a general rule broke up these fights quickly and before they destroyed an inordinate amount of furniture. When the opposite occurred, the publican had the names of the perpetrators and presented a bill to the college. With some reluctance, the college pressed the student for repayment.

Tonight, the topic was women. More specifically, tropical women, or women in the Caribbean. Even more specifically, African women on Gérard’s island.

“So, Gérard, tell us about the women where you lived.”

This was not a hard question nor an unexpected one, but Gérard saw no need to dive right into an answer. He thought briefly of his sister, Amélie, and of Sandrine, the former slave.

“It depends.”

He looked around at the circle of faces and tried to guess which ones might have had experience. Their blandness and eagerness argued strongly their sexual adventures to the moment consisted of their imaginations, their hands, and perhaps the assistance of a friend and his hand and perhaps even his mouth.

Inadvertently he thought of Antoine and their adventures together. Gérard had never thought of himself as bound for relations with one sex or the other. He and Antoine had enjoyed almost every kind of sexual game they could think of, but then he thought of Sandrine and Amélie and felt the surge of affection, of lust, honestly, that made him realize he was made for women. Men were a dalliance, albeit a pleasant one.

“Joseph,” Gérard addressed the one who had posed the question. “You begin. Tell us about women at Oxford first, will you?”

Joseph looked a little lost.

“Well, Gérard, it is harder than you might expect perhaps to engage in conversation with a young lass, at least where I live.”

“There are no girls where you live, Joseph?”

“My father is a vicar.”

Gérard tried not to laugh.

“And vicars don’t have daughters, or friends with daughters?”

Joseph turned red at these words. It was dark enough so perhaps none of the others noticed his blush, but to Gérard it was obvious. There was certainly a sister in Joseph’s life. The question was what if anything Joseph had done about it or wished to do about it. Gérard decided now was not the time to pursue the question, but he filed it away for future exploration.

“Well—”

“Come on, Joseph,” said Will, another member of the group. “Tell us about the friends.”

“There’s this other vicar,” Joseph began. “He and my father were friends at their own college when they were studying to become priests. They married at about the same time, and the friend had daughters, twins, in fact, the same year I was born.”

Twins. This might be interesting, Gérard thought.

“Our families have grown close,” Joseph continued. “My mother and the other vicar’s wife are especially close friends, along with their husbands.” He paused. “Sometimes I wonder—”

“Come on, Joseph,” interjected Will again. “What about the daughters?”

Gérard figured the rest were too young and inexperienced to take note of the “close friendship” of the two women. In his experience, such friendships often carried multiple levels of affection. Nothing was ever certain, except that to fail to be open to possibilities ensured one might miss them.

“It was Easter last year,” Joseph resumed his story. “The twins and I had gone for a walk down to the river while our elders digested our Easter feast. “Nothing really happened,” he added hastily when he saw the look of the others around the table. “Except that I kissed Charity when she turned to me on the path beside the river. I think she was going to say something, but instead she turned her head just so and her lips parted a little and without thinking I leaned close and it was the easiest thing in the world to kiss her.”

The others, including Gérard, clapped. “Bravo, Joseph,” said Gérard.

Joseph smiled. “And then Hope kissed me afterwards.” More clapping. “I guess she didn’t want to be outdone by her sister.”

“And then, Joseph?” asked Gérard.

“Nothing,” he answered. “At least not yet.” He paused and appeared to reflect. “But their smiles promised more, I know it.”

After a moment Joseph and Will and Richard, the third companion, turned to Gérard. “Your turn, Gérard.”

“It’s not what you think,” Gerard began. “Everyone assumes because it’s the tropics and it’s hot and so people must not wear so many clothes that they’re fucking all the time. That’s not true.” Gérard drank from his tankard. “For one thing, people work hard in the tropics. Doubly so, because of the heat, and I’m not even talking about the slaves or workers in the fields.”

“Is that friend who lives with your foster sister a slave, Gérard? Where did she work?”

The others had met Sandrine and Amélie during a Sunday afternoon walk, the three of them on the footpath beside the river, but it had not been a long conversation. Nevertheless, Sandrine’s striking looks, the tone of her skin above all, and her natural beauty were the subject of endless and no doubt fevered discussions and imaginations. Gérard wondered, idly, from time to time, how many quarts of seed had been spilled by young men thinking about Sandrine.

“She was a slave but she is free now. Amélie’s father purchased her several years ago. She is unusual in that her previous owner had educated her to read and write and do basic arithmetic and sums. She grew up speaking French on the island of Martinique, and she learned some English as well by listening to the visitors to her master’s house. He had intended for her to assist him in his bookkeeping. She never was your common uneducated field worker. With us she worked inside in the kitchen, and she helped Amélie’s aunt keep her father’s books. Within months her English, spoken and written, was excellent. She’s a fast learner.